The Gift of Recognizing Anonymity

Walking through Kuromon Ichiba Market in Osaka, Japan.

One of my favorite parts of traveling is knowing that no one knows who I am. I am not “the coach,” “the educator,” or “the leader.” I am simply another person walking, noticing, breathing with an opportunity to reflect on whether I am still adhering to my authentic self. It feels like shedding a heavy coat I didn’t realize I had been wearing.

When I stepped down from my principalship, I did not realize how much I had been craving anonymity. For six years, my professional and personal worlds were constantly blurred. Sometimes it was hard to breathe or relax, including in my own neighborhood or house. It took a long time to truly exhale, even longer for my shoulders to drop from my ears and for me to inhale deeply again.

While in Tanzania, India, and Vietnam I wandered through beautifully hectic markets with my family. Even though we might have stuck out like sore thumbs because we looked different, spoke another language, and were unfamiliar with local customs, we were still anonymous. No one expected anything of us. No one knew our story. Moving unnoticed among the stalls, I found joy in simply listening, tasting, and watching. The simple act of being unknown reconnected me with my curiosity and reminded me that I am someone outside of my myriad roles.

After nearly nine months of traveling, it finally struck me: in far-off places, no one knew my name, where I was from, or what I had accomplished. More importantly, no one cared. I remember walking through Osaka on one of my rare writing days, when I suddenly realized I could luxuriate in being anonymous. I spent the rest of the day smiling. In the weeks that followed, I reflected on my epiphany and my unexpected physical response. I felt energized, I could breathe again, and I sensed I was reconnecting with my authentic self in ways I hadn’t been able to for years. This doesn’t mean I hadn’t been authentic throughout my principalship, but there were aspects of my identity I had neglected. Parts of me that I felt I had been unable to fully tend to under constant scrutiny and expectation.

This experience taught me something important: finding opportunities to become anonymous is not about escape, but about renewal. It gives leaders, especially communal leaders, the space to rediscover and reconnect with their authentic selves so that can bring more presence, patience, and perspective to their communities upon their return.

Anonymity is more than a luxury of travel. It is a practice leaders can seek by carving out spaces where we are not “on duty,” or by intentionally cultivating moments of stillness that offer anonymity. In reclaiming the freedom to simply be, we find the strength to return to our work with greater clarity and compassion. It might not always be possible to travel to far-off places where no one knows our name. Yet even small acts such as walking a new trail, exploring a different neighborhood, or visiting a grocery store in an unfamiliar area can offer a brief reprieve and a moment of anonymity until we can.